


Silent Moments

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: College AU, Depressed Castiel, Depression, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Roommates, Slow Burn, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:06:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean and Castiel are roommates in college, and they each have their own demons.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and I'm not making any money off of this. 
> 
> I realize it starts off kind of bad, but whatever.

“Ow, shit!” Dean exclaims as he attempts to remove a box from the trunk of his car, knocking another box and a heavy bag onto his foot.

 

“Isn’t that the bag that your laptop is in?” His younger brother, Sam, asks as he walks toward Dean to help.

 

“Shit!” Dean exclaims again, before glancing to his left towards the, if he’s being honest, quite ugly tan student dorm building. He groans at the thought of the effort it would take two people to drag all of his unreasonably heavy boxes into the building and up a flight of stairs. 

 

“What’s your room number again?” Sam asks, shoving Dean’s laptop back into its bag after making sure it was unharmed. 

 

“263. But you already knew that, nerd. You memorised all of my emails from the school.” Dean says, and it’s true. Sam was more familiar with Dean’s college than Dean was. 

 

“Just testing you. You need to be able to get home after getting drunk at frat parties.” Sam responds, and Dean grins.

 

“Sammy I would never attend a frat party, who do you think I am? I’m gonna spend all my free time in the library, studying!” Dean responds sarcastically. 

 

“Yeah, Dean, I really believe that.” Sam smirks, and walks toward the building. Dean follows him, and almost runs over a skinny boy that looks about his age, and who is wearing a sweater even though technically it’s still summer. 

 

“Sorry!” Dean mutters quickly and rushes to catch up with Sam. 

  
  


An hour and a half and a lot of Dean swearing later, they have moved all of Dean’s stuff into his new dorm room and set most of it up. Dean had ignored the three boxes stacked just inside the door, assuming those belonged to his roommate, who he had yet to meet. 

Now, Dean was standing in the parking lot with Sam, saying goodbye. This was the first time they would be apart for an extended period of time, because they usually stuck together all the time outside of school. Neither of them had ever been to a summer camp or away-from-home program because their father, John, spent so much time drinking himself into a stupor that he barely made enough money for them to survive on. 

 

Dean pulls Sam into a hug and clapped him on the back before pulling away. “You take of yourself, Sammy.” Dean said, tossing the keys to his beloved 1967 Impala at his brother. “And take care of my car!” He shouts as Sam walked toward the driver’s door. As soon as his brother starts to drive away, Dean turns and walks back into the building, because only in chick flicks did people watch their loved ones drive away for an extended period of time. And one of Dean’s most important rules was: no chick flick moments. 

 

Therefore he had promised himself he would not land himself in a serious relationship with a girl or have to deal with some sort of emotionally painful mess, because he was here for three reasons: to go to parties, have sex, and get away from his asshole father who had developed an alcohol abuse problem after Sam and Dean’s mother had died in a house fire when Dean was four. 

 

Well, technically he was here to get a degree in automotive engineering so he could fix cars, which was something he loved doing and one of the only things he was good at, for a living. 

 

He pushes through the crowd of nervous-looking freshmen and comforting parents, up the stairs, through a similar but smaller crowd, to a door that had nobody near it. He wonders if his roommate was just not there, or if he had no family to help him move in. Dean unlocked the door and learned he had to push it really hard to get it to open. 

 

He walks in and the first thing he notices is the boy sitting on one of the beds, more specifically the one Dean had not already claimed with his stuff. The second thing he notices is how strange this boy’s area of the room was. There is nothing there. No decorations occupied the wall or the small nightstand next to the bed. The only thing on the nightstand was a phone, presumably the boy’s. 

 

The third thing he notices is that this was the boy Dean had almost knocked over earlier. He is wearing dark blue skinny jeans, white converse, and a plain maroon sweater. He also is either deaf or really into the book he was reading ( _ The Picture of Dorian Gray _ by Oscar Wilde) because he showed no signs of acknowledging Dean’s presence. 

 

“Um...hi.” Dean says quietly, and the effect was the same as if he’d shouted as loud as he could. The boy starts, jumping and almost dropping his book. Then he sharply looks up at Dean with bright blue eyes that Dean immediately classifies as hot.  _ If they belonged to a girl, obviously.  _ He adds as an afterthought. “Hi,” Dean says again, dumbly. “I’m Dean Winchester. Your roommate, I guess.” 

“Hello. I’m Castiel Novak.” The boy says, and continues staring at Dean with his wide blue eyes. Dean isn’t quite sure what to do now. Should they shake hands, or is that too professional? Anyways, this boy is so thin he looks like he will shatter into a million pieces if bumps into something. 

 

“Your name is Castiel?” Dean asks before he can stop himself. Great, now he’s probably managed to offend his new roommate within five minutes of knowing him. Castiel, however, doesn’t look troubled. In fact, his face is void of emotion.

 

“Yes. It’s biblical. My family is very religious. My siblings and I are all named after angels.” Castiel says. Dean, who has not been inside a church since his mother’s funeral, simply nods. Castiel looks back down at his book.

  
  


Since Castiel seems to want to be left alone, Dean leaves the dorm room and walks around campus, flirting with girls and not going into the library. When he returns shortly after seven, Castiel is not there. His book he was reading earlier is on the nightstand, and his phone is gone. Dean cooks himself a grilled cheese sandwich with the groceries he bought with Sam before arriving at the dorm room earlier that day. 

 

He is sitting at the tiny table that has been pushed against the wall in the kitchenette, eating his sandwich and drinking coca-cola when Castiel forces the door open. 

 

“Hello.” He says as a greeting and walks over to his bed, setting his phone down on top of his book. 

 

“Hey. I made a grilled cheese sandwich for myself. Want one?” He asks, and he swears he sees Castiel freeze for a millisecond before turning to face him.

 

“No thank you, Dean. I ate already. But thank you for offering.” Castiel says, and disappears into the small bathroom. Dean shrugs, dismissing all doubt from his mind, and continues eating. 

 

When he is finished, he puts his plate in the sink and flips through his textbooks for his classes. Or at least he attempts too, then gives up and watches action movies on his phone until he falls asleep. 

  
  


When he wakes up the next morning, Castiel is gone already. Dean doesn’t think much of it, and gets dressed and makes himself breakfast (pancakes with an obscene amount of syrup). He then collects his schedule and books and heads to his first class of college. 

Castiel is not at the dorm room when Dean arrives after his classes either, and he doesn’t show up during the two hours Dean attempts to start on the work the professors have assigned (what kind of teacher gives homework on the first fucking day, anyway?). 

 

Dean gives up, convincing himself it’s okay, nothing is due for a couple days anyways, and decides to catch a bus into the downtown area near the campus, and look for a job. He had meant to do that before term started, but oh well. 

  
  


After three hours of walking (he should have gotten a bike or something) around the town and finally finding a mechanic shop that needed help, which Dean thought was extraordinarily convenient, he returns to campus. The owner of the shop, a man named Bobby, said he would review Dean’s job application and call him some time this week. 

 

As Dean was walking toward the dorm room, he sees none other than Castiel walking in the same direction he is, about twenty-five yards in front of him. Dean runs up to him, glad to see his only sort-of friend he had here. 

 

“Hey, Cas!” Dean greets him, the shortened version of Castiel’s name slipping out without it meaning too. Castiel turns, and he sort-of smiles at Dean, which Dean finds encouraging. 

 

“Hello, Dean.” Cas says, adjusting his grip on the book he’s holding. It’s  _ The Great Gatsby _ this time, and Dean briefly wonders if he finished the books he was reading last night already. 

 

“So, where have you been? I’ve seen you, like,  _ twice _ in the last thirty-three hours.” Dean asks, and he is pretty sure the statement he just said is not accurate because he has no idea how long he has known Castiel. 

 

“I’ve been in the library, studying. It’s an interesting place. There are so many books, covering such extensive topics.” Cas responds, and Dean has to force himself not to roll his eyes. 

 

“O-kay...so, what do you want to make for dinner? Since we’ll be living with each other for the whole year, I think we should get to know each other over dinner or something.” Dean says, then realizes a possible interpretation of what he has just said. “I mean, not like a date or anything, just like we could make food and then, eat it.” He says awkwardly.

 

“You use disfluencies when you speak, have you noticed that?” Castiel says, not answering Dean’s question. “You say ‘like’ a lot.”

 

Dean blushes slightly, (Jesus Christ what is he, a teenage girl?) and repeats himself. “Okay, but what do you want to eat?” 

 

At that moment, Castiel trips over a crack in the sidewalk, and falls. Dean, without thinking, reaches out and grabs his wrist. Castiel drops his book as he falls, and Dean thinks Cas hisses in pain as Dean tightly grips his arm.

 

Dean helps him up, handing him his book back, and Castiel mutters a quick “Thank you.” before rushing off, not answering Dean’s question for the second time, leaving Dean to process exactly just what happened. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I didn't realize until I finished this that they are too young to be allowed into a bar. Whatever, just go with it. I was too lazy to change it.

Cas didn’t show up at the dorm room until 11:00 that night. Dean had waited to make dinner, but had given into the fact Castiel probably didn’t want to speak to him around 9:00, besides he had been really hungry, so he made himself mac and cheese from a box (he should have learned to cook more than three things before coming to college, Sam was always better at domestic household-y stuff) and went to bed at 10:30 after watching a couple old  _ Star Trek _ episodes.

 

He didn’t sleep. He stared at the dark ceiling, and tried to figure out why Castiel had freaked out after Dean helped him up? He had said his family was super religious, maybe they had some weird thing about not being touched? Whatever.

 

At 11:14, according to the clock on Dean’s phone, Cas pushes open the door to the dorm room. Dean pretends to be asleep, in case Castiel wants to be left alone. He hears Cas enter the bathroom, and a couple minutes later he emerges, and gets into his bed. Dean falls asleep and dreams of driving his Impala down a long stretch of open highway, listening to Asia. 

  
  


The next morning, Dean decides to forget about whatever had happened the previous day, and only mention it if Castiel does. 

 

Which he does not. Cas is sitting at the kitchen table, already dressed in a navy blue sweater and skinny jeans, when Dean enters, reading another goddamn book. This time it’s  _ A Tale of Two Cities _ , and Dean briefly wonders if this guy only reads books published more than 80 years ago. 

 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel says, not looking up from his book.

 

“Hi. I’m gonna make myself some eggs. You want some?” Dean asks, moving over to the stove.

 

“No thank you, I already ate.” Cas responds nonchalantly, and turns the page in his book. 

 

“So, uh, it’s Saturday, so neither of us have class today, and I was wondering if you wanted to do something. We could go into town and go see a movie, or something.” Dean says as he almost burns himself on the stove, and looks at Castiel.

 

Cas glances up at him, looking surprised. “You want to do something with me?” He asks, as if nobody has never invited him to hang out before.

 

“Yeah, I don’t know. We could go explore the downtown area that they have next to campus, and maybe go get lunch or something. I saw a diner on my way back from applying for a job the other day.” Dean says, and accidentally drops a piece of eggshell into the scrambled eggs he is attempting to make. “Dammit.”

 

“That is a very kind offer, Dean, but I have to go to the library and work on a paper for one of my classes.” Castiel says, and turns another page of his book.

 

“Oh, okay.” Dean is not really used to people turning him down. He was pretty popular at his high school, because of his position on the football team. Before he had to quit the team to get a part-time job to help pay for his family’s groceries. “What are you majoring in?” He asks as a way to change the subject.

 

“English and literature.” Cas responds, and Dean chuckles. He should have known. 

  
  


Castiel leaves to go to the library, and Dean spends the morning trying to research stuff for a paper, even though he isn’t entirely sure what the topic is supposed to be. After slopping together a messy and really bad outline, he decides he has done enough work and calls Sam, who explains he cannot talk because he is on his way to pick up his new girlfriend, Jess, for a date. 

 

Dean lays on the tiny, uncomfortable couch and flicks through the crappy channels on their TV. There’s nothing good on, so he decides to cyber-stalk his roommate on social media.

 

That lasts all of seven minutes as he determines Castiel has no social media whatsoever, not even a goddamn Facebook account. 

 

Eventually, with nothing else to do, Dean falls asleep.

 

He wakes up several hours later to Cas entering the dorm room. 

 

“Hey,” he mutters sleepily, sitting up. “What time is it?”

 

“6:07.” Castiel responds, and sets down his stuff on the dining table. “What are you watching?”

 

Dean looks over at the TV, which is still on. Damn, he never turned it off. “ _ The Twilight Zone _ , apparently.”

 

Castiel’s face brightened. “I enjoy that show! My sister showed it to me.” He says, and Dean realizes this is the most emotion he has seen Cas portray, ever. 

 

“Come watch it.” Dean says, and moves over so Cas has space to sit. He does, and Dean almost laughs at his perfect posture, even on a couch. 

 

They watch four episodes of the show, and then the television channel starts showing some show about cowboys from the 1940’s. 

 

Dean stands up, and glances at the clock. 8:02. “Come on.” He says, and waves Cas over to the door. Castiel looks confused, but follows him. “We’re going out.” Dean explains.

 

Cas frowns. “Dean-” he starts, but Dean cuts him off.

 

“Cas, it’s Saturday night. We’re at college. Let’s go find a bar, get slightly drunk, or at least tipsy, and maybe get lucky!” Dean says, and Castiel looks even more confused, if possible.

 

“Get lucky?” He asks, and Dean opens his mouth to answer, but stops himself.

 

“You’ll see.” He says, and leads Cas out the door.

  
  


They catch a bus to the downtown area, which now seems to hold every single student attending college in the surrounding fifty miles. All Dean needs to do is follow the sound of blasting music to find a bar. 

 

“Dean, no.” Cas says, pulling slightly on Dean’s forearm. Dean has to admit, it looks a little intimidating, even to him.

 

“Come on. Let’s just look. You don’t have to drink anything. I’ll be right there!” Dean says, and Castiel relents.

 

Dean walks inside and pushes through a small crowd to the bar, and orders a beer. Glancing at Cas, who looks supremely uncomfortable, he changes his order to two beers. He shoves one of them into Castiel’s hands, who looks down at it as if Dean has given him a cup of dirt.

 

“Drink it!” Dean shouts in his ear, because he has to shout because the music is getting increasingly louder as more people enter the bar.

 

Some time and several drinks later, Dean is slightly drunk, but Cas is  _ extremely _ drunk. Apparently he likes beer, and tequila. Dean is mostly holding him up when he decides they probably should have left a while ago. Shame, because it’s only 11:00, and the night is just getting started at the bar. 

 

Castiel almost trips over nothing on the sidewalk, and laughs as Dean helps him. “I’mma too clumsy to function.” He says, and laughs again.

 

“No, you’re too drunk to function.” Dean corrects, and guides him away from the curb.

 

Cas turns to him. “You have pretty eyes.” He slurs, and Dean blinks at him.

 

“What?”

 

“They’re green, like, like the leaves of trees in spring.” Cas says, staring at him. Dean nods slowly.

 

“O-kay, buddy, let’s get you home.”

 

“Sorry, sometimes I’m too gay to function.” Cas slurs, and Dean stares at him.

“You’re gay?” He asks, and reminds himself that it’s okay because  _ he _ is definitely not gay. Nope, his blossoming feelings for Castiel are completely platonic. 

 

Castiel, though, now looks incredibly sober. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Michael said not to tell anybody. He said I’m going to Hell.” 

 

Dean awkwardly pats his back. “It’s okay.” He says, because he isn’t entirely sure how to reassure someone they won’t go to Hell, and continues leading Cas back to their dorm room.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

When Dean wakes up the next morning, Cas is sitting on his bed with his eyes closed. “Uh, Cas? You okay?” Dean asks, and Cas jumps, and opens his eyes.

 

“Dean? Why does my head hurt? And why don’t I really remember last night?” Cas asks, staring at Dean with a slightly pained expression.

 

“Um, you were drunk, and you probably have a hangover. Come on, I’ll make you some coffee.” Dean says, and gets out of bed. He does not have a hangover, probably because he had to take Cas home before he got really drunk. 

 

“This is what alcohol does?” Castiel asks, following Dean into the kitchenette slowly.

 

“Hang on, have you never been drunk before last night?” Dean asks, turning to face Cas.

 

Cas scratches the back of his neck, and shrugs. “I’ve, uh, never had any alcoholic beverages before last night.” He says, and Dean barks out a laugh.

 

“Cas, you should have told me that!” To be honest, Dean probably should have realized Cas wasn’t the type of person to go to parties with alcohol in high school. Hell, he probably hadn’t been to any kind of party, except maybe a birthday party when he was little. 

 

Dean makes them both coffee, which Cas drinks black, apparently, while Dean fills half the cup with sugar. 

 

“What should I make for breakfast?” Dean asks, and Cas shakes his head. 

 

“I’m not really that hungry, thank you for offering though, Dean.” 

 

Dean stares at him. “C’mon, man, you need to eat. It will help the hangover go away. I’m making pancakes.”

  
  


Eleven minutes later, Dean sets down a towering plate of pancakes, smothered in butter and syrup. Cas just stares at the food, so Dean piles three pancakes onto each of their plates, and sets one of them in front of Cas. 

 

“Here you go!” Dean announces cheerfully. Cas just stared at the food. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had pancakes before.” Dean says, shoving half of a pancake in his mouth. Cas shakes his head.

 

“No...no, I have.” He says, and scrapes some of the syrup off the top pancake on the stack, before cutting a small piece and placing it in his mouth. Dean grins wider, his mouth still full of pancake. 

 

After they finish breakfast, Dean realizes he should probably start a paper that is due tomorrow, and bids farewell to Cas as he leaves the dorm room and walks to the library. 

  
  


Five weeks later, Dean is somehow not failing his classes, he has gotten a job at Bobby’s mechanic shop/junkyard, and he is pretty sure his life has never been better. He no longer has to deal with his father or his father’s drinking (Sam comes and stays over at his dorm room now when their father gets into a really bad mood), and he has what is probably the closest friend he has ever had. He and Cas spend most of their free time together, and Cas has taken to dragging him to the library every couple days to study. 

 

Dean supposes he should have realized something this good in his life could never last for long undisturbed. Even though, in truth, everything had not been fine and good  _ at all _ , Dean just wasn’t aware of it. Even so, it takes almost six weeks for Dean to realize something is not right. 

 

It starts on a Friday, when Dean comes home from a class and Cas is sitting on his bed, staring at his phone. His usual greeting of “Hello, Dean.” is softer than usual, and he sounds slightly sad. 

 

“You okay?” Dean asks, throwing his books on his bed.

 

“Yes.” Cas answers and turns away, so he isn’t facing Dean. Dean shrugs and walks into the bathroom, because he is not very good at dealing with feelings or helping other people with emotional problems. 

 

After he washes his hands, Dean accidentally knocks the small towel they keep by the sink off its hook, and bends over to pick it up. He notices something small and silver next to where the towel landed, and picks it up carefully, ignoring the towel.

 

It is a razor blade, small and sharp and slightly stained red with (Dean feels his stomach sink) something that can only be blood, as if it has been run over a cut that is already bleeding. 

 

Fuck. Could Cas be hurting himself? Dean thinks of the long-sleeved sweaters in the summer, the hesitancy to be touched, and the way Cas had bolted after Dean helped him up that first day they had known each other. Had Cas thought he had seen something? What was there to see? Was Dean really that stupid, that he didn’t see this?

 

He storms out of the bathroom, and over to where Cas is sitting on his bed, facing the wall. Cas doesn’t turn to face him.

 

“Cas.” Dean says sharply, and Cas slowly turns to face him, his eyes widening when he sees the piece of metal Dean still holds between his thumb and index finger.

 

“Show me your arms, Cas.” Dean says, and Cas shakes his head.

 

“No, Dean, please leave me alone.” Cas responds softly and turns away from him. Dean sets the blade down on his own nightstand, mentally reminding himself to get rid of it later. 

 

“Goddammit, Cas. I’m not leaving until you do.” Dean says, and grabs Castiel’s arm, pulling it so Cas faces him. Cas hisses in pain ( _ Fuck, _ Dean thinks) and tries to pull away, but Dean is stronger.

 

“Please, Dean, please stop.” Cas says, and manages to stand, Dean still gripping his arm. 

 

With his free hand, Dean shoves the sleeve of Castiel’s sweater up, and clenches his teeth together when he sees the many cuts and scars on his arm.

 

“Fuck, Cas.” He breathes softly, as he stares. Some are old, and scarred over white. Some look as recent as a couple hours or a day ago. “Cas?” He says again, trying to get some sort of explanation for what the hell was going on. He looks up at Cas, and realize the other man is crying. “Why, Cas?” Dean asks, releasing Castiel’s arm.

 

“It-it makes me feel like I...like I have some control.” Cas is staring at the ground. “I need it!” He cries, and turns, so his back faces Dean.

 

“How...how long?” Dean asks quietly, not sure how to phrase his question. Cas shakes his head.

 

“Since I was fourteen. Michael, my oldest brother, he took care of us...after our father died. He...he found out I was gay...he hit me, because I was sinning and he, he said I was going to go...Hell. I deserved it...I was wrong.” Cas turns to look at him, and he looks so fucking resigned, and Dean feels rage bubble up inside of him.

 

“No, Cas...just, no.” Dean says, pulling Cas into a hug. “Nobody deserves that.” 

 

They stay like that for a while, just holding each other, until Dean pulls away. “Cas, I, uh, I need your blades. All of them.” He says, and Cas freezes, his eyes wide.

 

“No, Dean. I...I need them. God, that sounds pathetic.” Cas says, taking a step back.

 

Dean shakes his head. “Cas, no. Where are they?” Cas sighs and relents. Dean collects the razors from his friend’s nightstand, and heads into the bathroom, where he finds two other blades Cas didn’t mention, which alarms him. When he’s done, he puts the blades under his mattress, making sure Cas doesn’t see. Dean will get rid of them later. 

 

Cas is sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, which is playing some documentary about rocks and minerals. He isn’t watching it, though, his eyes are fixed on the floor.

 

“Cas.” Dean says softly, and Cas jumps, looking up at him. “I’ll help you.” Dean says, and sits down next to his friend. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I realize it's August when I posted this but I wanted snow or something in this so it's set near Christmas.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, they fell back into something that resembled a normal routine. 

 

Dean started waking up earlier, so he and Cas could eat breakfast together. Then they each went about their day, to classes or the library, or in Dean’s case his job. In the afternoon, they just stayed at the dorm room and watched TV, or talked for hours about nothing and everything. 

 

Dean learned that Castiel’s family was, if possible, more broken than his own. His mother, Becky, had left them when Cas was four, leaving his father, Chuck, to raise seven children. Chuck had died two years later, leaving then-nineteen-year-old Michael to take care of his siblings: Lucifer, who ran away and nobody talked about; Uriel, who was extremely loyal to Michael; Gabriel, who had also run away from Michael; Anna, who rarely spoke to the rest of the family except Cas; Cas himself, who was abused by Michael for being gay and not obeying him; and Samandriel, who worked at a pizza restaurant. 

 

In exchange, Dean told Cas his own life story: his mother’s death; his father’s drinking and how he used to hit Dean until Dean got old enough to fight back; how Sam was still stuck there but spent most of his time at his friend’s house, and wanted to go to Stanford for college. 

 

Sometimes they just sat together, doing their own thing. It probably would have appeared strange to other people, but Dean enjoyed these moments of peace. Maybe because it was never quiet in his house when he was a child, with his father’s drinking and yelling, or maybe because Dean had never had any real friends he really trusted before, but Dean loved these silent moments. 

  
  


It’s almost Christmas, and Dean has no idea what he was going to get Cas. He’ll get him a present, of course, he just doesn’t know what the hell to buy him. He’ll just end up buying him books, probably. 

 

When Dean learns Cas hadn’t ever so much as a Christmas tree before on the holiday, Dean goes out and buys every Christmas decoration he can find, and by that evening, their dorm room looks ‘like one of Santa’s elves had thrown up on it,’ as Cas so eloquently puts it. 

 

“What, how did you decorate for Christmas when you were younger?” Dean challenges, and Castiel’s face falls.

 

“We, uh, we didn’t. Christmas was a time for prayer and reflection. Michael said the commercialization of such a holy day was a sin.” He says, and Dean isn’t really sure what to say to that.

 

“Oh. Uh, I’m sorry?” Dean says, awkwardly.

 

Cas shrugs. “I’m here now, and I appreciate your over-the-top decorations.” He goes back to his book. Dean chuckles and glances out the window.

 

“Hey, it’s snowing!” He exclaims, and walks over to the window, to view the first snowfall of the year. 

 

Cas stands up. “Let’s go outside!” He says, grabbing Dean’s coat and throwing it at him, before pulling open the dorm room’s door. 

 

There isn’t very much snow on the ground, just a light dusting, but it was still falling steadily, and snow is snow. 

 

Cas looks like someone who has never seen snow before, as he stares at the flakes with wonder. “Isn’t it poetic?” He asks, glancing at Dean. Dean has no idea what he is supposed to say, and his face must show it, because Cas grins and points at the sky. 

 

“The uniqueness of snowflakes. It feels like it’s supposed to represent something, you know? I just don’t know what.” He says and Dean shrugs.

 

“You’re the English major.” He says, and watches as snowflakes land in Castiel’s messy black hair, and notices the blush the cold has caused to form on his cheeks. In a completely platonic way, of course. 

 

They walk through the small field near the dorm building, over to a small river that froze over a month ago, and stop under a leafless oak tree that hangs over the water. Dean walks up to the river and places one foot on the ice, testing it.

 

“Dean, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It might break!” Cas calls from behind him, but Dean ignores him, stepping forward. “Dean!” Cas calls again, but Dean doesn’t answer him because at that moment he feels himself slip and the world flips over and suddenly he is on his back, staring at the gray sky, with snowflakes falling on his face. 

 

Cas appears in his vision, looking concerned. “Dean? Are you okay?” He asks, and helps Dean sit up. 

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Probably shouldn’t walk over that river, though.” Dean says, and Cas rolls his eyes.

 

“That’s what I  _ told you _ .” He says, brushing snow off Dean’s back. Dean stands, and laughs. Cas grins as well, and Dean notices just how attractive and  _ pretty damn kissable _ his lips are. 

 

What? Where the hell had that come from? Dean steps back, and looks up at Cas, trying to ignore the fact that his friend is really hot with snow in his hair and flushed cheeks from the cold.

 

And suddenly Cas moves forward and his hands, cold from the snow, are pulling Dean’s face down, and his lips are on Dean’s, and Dean unconsciously moves forward and deepens the kiss, moving his hands through Castiel’s hair, and-

 

Suddenly all Dean can think about is something his father had said. It was a few years earlier and Dean doesn’t even know what had caused it, but his father was in one of his drunken rages and this time the focus of his rage (as per usual) was Dean.

 

_ “When are you gonna amount to anything?!” John had yelled at Dean, who had been trying to make dinner for himself and Sam. “You never do anything for me!” Dean had ignored him, trying not to antagonize him even more. _

 

_ “You listenin’ to me, boy?” John had walked over to Dean, his breath smelling of whiskey. “Don’t know why I bother. You’re probably a faggot or something.” Dean had frozen, trying to control the tidal wave of anger rising in his chest. _

 

_ “That’s what you are, aren’t you? You a faggot?” John had said again, trying to get a reaction out of Dean. “If you’re a faggot, you get out of my house and stay gone. We don’t want to see you.”  _

 

Dean doesn’t remember what had happened after that, but John’s words echo in his minds.  _ You a faggot? _ Now here he is, kissing Cas, and he doesn’t know what to do so he steps back, breaking off the kiss. Cas looks up at him, confused.

 

“Dean?” Cas asks, and Dean shakes his head, unable to say anything.

 

“I...I can’t, Cas.” He says, and Cas looks like a puppy that has just been kicked. “I’m sorry.” Dean adds lamely, because he doesn’t want to hurt Cas. How does he explain this? It’s not Cas, no. Cas just doesn’t deserve someone as fucked up as Dean. 

  
“Oh.” Cas says, and turns away. Dean wants to say a million things, namely  _ it’s not your fault _ and  _ please don’t leave _ but nothing comes out so he just stands under the oak tree and watches Cas walk away, as snow falls around him. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean doesn’t go back to the dorm room right away, because that’s where he figures Cas went, so he walks around outside some more, trying to put together an apology in his mind. Something that starts with  _ please, listen _ and ends with _ give me another chance _ , preferably. 

 

Thirty minutes later, he has something worked out, not nearly something as good as anything Cas would be able to write, but  _ something _ . He walks back to the dorm room, and as he walks inside he doesn’t hear anything. 

 

“Cas?” He calls, and nobody answers. He walks through the dorm, and sees Castiel’s coat and phone on his bed. On top of his nightstand is a post-it note. On it, two words.

 

_ I’m sorry. _

 

Shit. Dean drops everything he’s holding and runs to the bathroom, and almost throws up. Lying in the bathtub, is Cas, unconscious in a pool of his own blood, with a silver razor blade next to him, and Dean briefly wonders where he got it. 

 

Dean stands still for a moment, frozen. Then he sprints over to his bed and scrambles on the floor for his phone, which he had dropped, and dials 911. 

 

The operator, a professional-sounding man, has to tell him to calm down at least five times before he can understand what is going on, and as soon as Dean informs him, he rushes back into the bathroom, and tries to find a wound.

 

Once he does, the feelings of nausea and helplessness triple. On Castiel’s arm, over his old cuts, he has carved four letters into his skin, in deep gashes.

 

_ DEAN _ , it reads, and Dean almost throws up again. Instead, he tries to use a towel to staunch the bleeding, and cries. “Cas, Cas, I’m sorry.” He mutters, pressing his face into Castiel’s hair. 

 

The paramedics arrive, and Dean desperately shouts for them to help Cas. Someone holds him back as they lift Cas onto a stretcher, and he only stops fighting the arms holding him when a woman walks up to him.

 

“You can’t ride with him to the hospital unless you calm down, sir.” She says, and Dean nods. He feels the arms release him, and the woman takes his arm and leads him to the ambulance. Dean sits next to a paramedic, and doesn’t understand what they are saying as they connect tubes to Castiel’s arm, but he can understand it isn’t good. 

 

When they arrive at the emergency doors of the hospital, the paramedics wheel Cas away somewhere, and Dean stands just inside the emergency room doors until a nurse walks up to him.

“Sir?” He asks, and Dean blinks, trying to focus on the man standing in front of him. “Is there someone you want us to call?” The man asks, and Dean nods. He gives them Sam’s name and phone number, and lets himself be led to a chair to sit in.

 

He stares at the ugly-colored wall, not absorbing anything going on around him, just thinking about how much he fucked up. 

 

It will be his fault if Cas dies. 

 

It is 7:03pm and Dean watches a woman in labor wheeled away to give birth.

 

It is 7:52 and Dean watches the people at the nurses station doing their job, answering phone calls and writing things down.

 

It is 8:18 and Dean watches a man sink to the floor, crying and overcome with grief as he is informed that his wife has died. Dean briefly wonders if that will be him sometime soon, put pushes this thought away as soon as it surfaces.

 

It is 8:36 and Dean hears someone call his name and he turns to see his brother running towards him. A girl follows behind him, with long blonde hair.

 

“Dean!” Sam says again, and pulls him into a hug. Dean is a automaton, his brain only thinking about Cas. “Dean!” Sam says again, to get his attention, and Dean focuses on his brother’s face. “The hospital called, and said your roommate, Cas, was hurt. I’m sorry it took so long to get here, Dad was in a bad mood and it was hard to leave. This is Jess, by the way.” Sam says, motioning to the woman who is now standing next to him.

 

Jess greets him, but Dean can’t find the strength to introduce himself. Sam excuses himself to go find someone to explain what is going on. 

 

It is 8:42 and Sam informs him Cas is in surgery and there have been some complications, but they won’t tell him anything else. Sam and Jess sit next to Dean, talking in hushed tones.

 

It is 9:05 and Sam pushes a cup of hospital coffee into his hands, but Dean doesn’t drink it. 

 

It is 9:27 and a doctor walks up to Dean, and Dean stands. The doctor looks grim and Dean knows what she is going to say before she says it.

 

It is 9:27 and the doctor quietly informs Dean that Cas has died.

 

It is 9:27 and Dean can’t process it because Cas was happy and  _ alive _ three hours ago. It is 9:27 and Dean feels himself start to cry, and he isn’t sure why because he feels so  _ numb _ inside. It is 9:27 and the doctor offers her condolences, and Sam and Jess are there and they are holding him up and saying how sorry they are and Dean doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want any of it he wants to go home, back to his dorm room covered in Christmas decorations with snow falling outside and he wants to go back in time and keep kissing Cas, and he wants Cas,  _ he just wants Cas back _ . 

 

Sam puts him in the back of the Impala and drives him to a hotel, because he  _ absolutely cannot go back to the dorm room _ because everything in his home is covered in memories of Cas. So he lays on an uncomfortable hotel bed while Sam and Jess stand nearby and talk in hushed tones, as if he cares what they say.

 

He doesn’t care about anything anymore.

  
  


Someone calls his phone and Sam answers, and after a few minutes Sam walks over to Dean and quietly explains he has just spoken to Castiel’s sister, Anna, and she is flying over from New York. Dean nods and goes back to staring at the wall.

  
  


The funeral is on a Tuesday and Sam help Dean get dressed into a black suit that Dean has never seen before, and he and Jess lead Dean to the Impala.

 

A redheaded woman who looks nothing like Cas walks over to them when they enter the church, and introduces herself as Anna. Sam does all the talking, while Jess holds onto Dean’s arm, because Dean is sure without her support he would simply fall over and shatter.

 

Dean doesn’t pay attention during the service, he watches the other people there. There are not many. Some he recognizes from school, professors and students who must have been in Castiel’s classes. 

 

Some he thinks might be Castiel’s family, simply because of the way they walk over to Anna and because Cas didn’t have very many friends (he said it himself, as a fact, when he and Dean were discussing their pasts). Based on the way Cas described them, Dean realizes they must be Gabriel and Samandriel. 

 

Out of Castiel’s entire family, only three of his sibling showed up. Dean supposes it is a good thing Michael isn’t there, because Dean actually might have killed him if he was. 

 

Dean just stares at the grave after the service is finished, and Sam and Jess stay as well because they are driving him home. There isn’t a headstone yet, just a small plastic flag that says  _ Castiel Novak _ , and Dean stares at it. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t have the strength to, anymore.

**Two Weeks Later**

 

Dean stares at the gray headstone, which is simple and short. But, he supposes, that is what Cas would have wanted. 

 

He wouldn’t have needed a fucking headstone at all if it wasn’t for Dean. 

 

Dean blinks a few times, and walks up to the headstone, crushing the stupid bouquet of flowers that Sam had bought for him in his hand. A couple of fucking flowers won’t bring Cas back.

 

Dean clears his throat, and begins to speak, ignoring how stupid it is to talk to a lump of rock, and think that somehow, wherever Cas is, he would hear him. misses him. “Hi, Cas.” He says, and stops. Breathing deeply, he starts again. “Hi, Cas. I, uh, I came to visit you.” His voice cracks. “And, I just want to say, I miss...I miss you. I miss your nerdiness, your stupid books, I miss the way you read through all your textbooks before classes started. I miss the way you would get over excited about things that happened on TV shows, I-” Dean stops, and clenches his fist.

 

“I miss the way you tried to make bacon one day and ended up burning it so badly we had to buy a new pan, because we couldn’t lean it. I miss the way you recited poetry when you were nervous, and I miss the way you saw beauty in everything,” he continues. “In everything except yourself. I miss the way we just sat together, the way it felt like the happiness would never end. I miss those moments. I miss you, Cas.” He finishes, and hangs his head, tears running down his face and falling onto the dirt that covered Castiel’s grave.

 

“I miss you.”

  
  



End file.
